Branded
by Emma Scamander
Summary: Postwar. Muggles never do seem to understand the Dark Mark. Of course, Draco's not sure he does either. Memories and angst follow.


**A/N: One shot. All comments appreciated. **

"Wicked tattoo!"

Draco Malfoy drags himself from the depths of his hazy alcohol-stained mind. A blonde lock droops over one of his eyes, but he makes no attempt to bat it away. He had stopped slicking back his hair after the War. "I'm sorry?' He squints to make out the figure in front of him, a hazy human form obscured by hair and liquor. Draco likes Muggle alcohol. It gets the job done far more quickly than any Firewhiskey he's tried.

"Your tattoo!" The figure plops itself into the chair beside the blonde man. "I really like it,"

Draco shakes his head, ignoring the stars dancing in front of his eyes. His vision slowly clears and he finds himself looking into bright blue eyes set into a heart shaped face. Soft curls are pulled into a tight ponytail. Draco swallows. "What?"

An airy laugh ripples from the girl's throat. Her bracelets jingle as she brushes light fingers against Draco's arm. "You're really drunk, aren't you? Your. _Tattoo_." She points to his left arm. "There must be some interesting stories behind that one."

Draco makes a mad shuffle to pull down the sleeve of his shirt, spilling his drink in the process. "Interesting stories," he slurs. "Yeah. You could say that."

The girl twists a stray lock of hair around her finger. "Don't hide it!" Tentatively, she pulls Draco's sleeve down to his elbow. "It looks… alive."

The Mark. For the past three years, Draco has had to look at the Mark every day…

_He had met Pansy in a little Muggle restaurant in London. No one thought to look for a Malfoy in a Muggle metropolis. _

_"Have you felt anything since…"_

_"No," he had said, tugging at his sleeve. "Nothing at all. I doubt anything would happen if I tried to summon everyone." _

_"But it's still there? You can't make it go away?" _

_"No," he had laughed. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. If you could make a Dark Mark go away, my father wouldn't have had to snogg a Dementor." _

_"Can you believe it's nearly been a year?" _

_Draco had simply dropped his eyes. "You think you can leave the war behind, but you can't. It will always be a part of you, engrained at the core of your being. Your failures. Your weaknesses." _

_"Kind of ironic. Potter gets a scar and you get the Dark Lord's personal stamp." _

_"Funny, Pans." _

"Yeah? You like it? I got it a few years ago. It's nothing special." Draco downs the rest of his drink and crunches on an ice cube.

The girl smiles again. Draco hates when the Muggles smile at him. "I want a tattoo. My mum'd murder me, though. Sort of ridiculous that I'm twenty years old and still scared of my mum, but you know how it is." A sheepish bloom of red spreads across her face.

Draco pauses mid-crunch. "I'm terrified of my father, and he's been dead for awhile."

"I'm sorry," says the girl, looking deeply embarrassed.

"Don't be. Really. Trust me. He's not exactly the type of person you send out sympathy cards for." He lets out a long sigh.

"Oh…" She extends her hand. "I'm Daisy, by the way."

He takes the hand and shakes it loosely. "A flower name," he mumbles.

Daisy rolls her eyes. "I know. It was cute when I was five but now…"

"I like flower names," he interrupts.

_Pansy had seemed impressed when he had shone her the Mark. She had told him how noble he was, serving the Dark Lord. But he could see the terror shining in her eyes. She was sickened by him. _

She laughs again. "I like you!" she says. "You're funny. So does it mean anything?"

"What?"

An affectionate hit on the arm. "Your tattoo! Any significance? How many drinks have you had, huh?"

What did the Dark Mark mean? Draco had never really cared to find out. The snake was probably something about Salazar Slytherin or Parseltongue. The skull probably symbolized conquering death or some stupid shit. "I was in a war. A lot of the people with whom I fought…" Draco licks his lips. They feel dry. "We all got it."

Daisy nods, curls bouncing. "You fought in the war? Really? I suppose it's for memories? The skull is because it's bittersweet or something, right? I hope no one in your unit died."

Draco slumps his shoulders in a shrug. "It's war. Some people live and some people die. Everything's fair."

"Excuse me?" A new voice joins in the conversation—this time a young man. All Muggles look the same to Draco. "Did you say you fought in the war?" He grabs Draco's hand and pumps it up and down. "Thank you so much. We take it for granted what you blokes are doing out there."

Draco is unsure whether to laugh or to cry or to vomit, so he lets out a choked "Thank you," and watches the man turn away.

"Look at you, you're blushing! You ought not be so modest! You're a hero!"

Draco's not a hero. The Boy-Who-Lived-Not-Once-Not-Twice-But-Three-Bloody-Times is a hero. Sirius Black is a hero for running away from his deranged family. Draco is a coward. "Not really, I honestly didn't do much in the war. Planning and strategizing. I'm rubbish when it comes to fighting."

Daisy reaches for his hand, and Draco doesn't feel like resisting. "Bollocks," she says. "That doesn't matter to me. I think you're quite brave."

Draco snorts. "Yeah, thanks." He orders another drink.

"That must of hurt," she observes, tracing the twisting path of the serpent on Draco's arm. "That's another reason I can't ever get a tattoo. I hate needles, and I have a terrible pain tolerance."

At this, Draco has to grin. "Oh yeah, it hurt. It hurt a lot."

_Draco's arm was on fire. He writhed in his seat, held down by chains, focusing only on the agonising pain, focusing only on the red slits in the face in front of him. The ink swirled and moved not on his skin, but in his veins. It was alive. Thick rivulets of ink formed into a looping serpent, criss-crossing his arm with a searing fire. _

_He thought Voldemort was smiling as he held his wand to Draco's forearm, but Draco couldn't stare at him._

_He repressed a screech, clamping his mouth shut. Father had told him that he mustn't show weakness. _

_"Draco, you forget that I can see inside your head. You would not be the first to scream." Hissed the Dark Lord._

_So Draco had let it out._

_"Your father is going to be so proud." _

Daisy sucks in her breath. "I would imagine. It's really close to the bone, isn't it?"

"I suppose." He practically inhales his new drink.

"Do you think about the war a lot?" she asks.

_Only every waking moment. Only in every dream. Only every time I close my eyes. _"Yeah, I think about it quite often."

She smiles at him again, her eyes sad. "I would listen, you know."

At this Draco jumps from his seat and slams a fistful of money down on the bar. He never quite got the hang of the British monetary system, so he figures he may as well give some poor waitress the tip of her life. "Like I said, some people live, some people die. But not everyone's a hero. I was on the wrong side," He shakes his head at Daisy and stumbles out of the bar and down the street. He does what a Malfoy always does. He doesn't look back.


End file.
